


first & second

by zauberer_sirin



Series: Things We Said [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Cold Weather, F/M, Feminist Phil Coulson, First Kiss, Fluff, Hotels, Huddling For Warmth, Phil Coulson's Mother - Freeform, Romance, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16. things you said with no space between us</p>
            </blockquote>





	first & second

"This is kind of..."

"Uncomfortable?" she offers. "Awkward?"

"Yeah."

Daisy chuckles a bit and maybe it's okay, maybe awkwardness will no longer be the boss of them if they mock it.

"Well, it was _your_ idea," she points out. He practically begged her to _please, please, Daisy, Agent Johnson, please get into bed with me_ , because he was so freaking cold. Out-of-his mind cold, apparently.

And once she actually got into bed she realized he was right, he was basically about to die in this tiny bed of this god-forsaken motel had Daisy not decided to save his life by sharing her body warmth, and put her warm feet against Coulson's icicles under the blankets. The "tiny" part of the tiny bed part was the awkward part.

"I think I was overstating my necessity for warmth versus how awkward this would be for both of us," Coulson says. He sneezes painfully. He does look horrible, Daisy realizes, which is why she herself overlooked the enormity of the akwardness in the first place. But he looks like a wild, sick thing found in the woods or something, like a dying deer, with his nostrils all bright red and messed up and his lips dry, cracking. She pitied him, what can she say, she pitied him and climbed into bed with him, exposing herself to germs and viruses and awkwardness.

"Are you sure we can't ask the motel to fix the heating again?" he asks in desperation.

"It's the same in every room," Daisy tells him, genuinely sorry about it. "And I'd rather not go to the front desk and let Norman Bates memorize my face, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, I... sorry about that."

"That's fine."

He's the one who's not fine and Daisy wraps her arms around him a bit tighter as a reward. Coulson lets out a grateful moan, though for a moment it sounds like she might be hurting him, but no, it's the good kind of moan. That adds a bit to the awkwardness, that definitely-the-good-kind-of noise, but she is glad she can physically relieve him somehow and yeah, she did not phrase _that_ quite well.

"Sorry about this," he says again.

"What? Huddling for warmth? Your runny, super-gross nose? The crappy tv reception one gets in Middle of Nowhere, North Dakota?"

"You pick," he tells her. "No, actually, I'm sorry about getting you stuck in a motel for Christmas, just because I got sick."

"Oh that. It's okay, you didn't get me stuck, the snow did. And Christmas... it's not a big deal for me."

He stares out at her for a bit, like he wants to say something, and then sneezes – almost on her face, _gross_ , but he had the decency to duck his head just in time and press his chin against his chest. She doesn't really want to talk about that, the Christmas issue and she's guiltily thankful to be spending the day in the middle of nowhere away from everyone. For many reasons she doesn't look back at past holidays, specially childhood-related ones. Of her own Christmas she mostly remembers as a vaguely Dickensian time of contrition when she spent them in the orphanage, and as painfully fleeting and more bitter than bittersweet when she was with a foster family. Either way she prefers this kind of celebration.

"This is actually a pretty good way of spending Christmas," she confesses.

"Being _forced_ to share a motel bed with your middle-aged boss so he won't die from hypothermia? Your childhood holidays really did suck."

His voice is humorous but Daisy can tell he feels bad about making her uncomfortable. But she's not, not really. Uncomfortable. She'd be a hundred times more uncomfortable sharing a bed with some regular-aged person who isn't her boss, for example. And he _didn't force_ her to. She wanted to help.

(And okay, let's be honest here, Daisy will admit that the part that is not busy being awkward about the situation is enjoying it; technically cuddling with Coulson has its appeal, not just the general being held and touched by another human being appeal, but specifically Coulson, his carefulness and his three layers of clothing and how he still looks at her for permission before touching her with his prosthetic even though he's done it a hundred times already – it's... well, it's pretty _nice_ , and that's not a word Daisy would ever misuse again)

She is giving Coulson certain leeway tonight and pampering him through his illness because he had been such a hero today, protecting two Inhuman sisters from a slightly-angry mob while Daisy had to actually face the consequences of the girls' powers, actually putting himself in danger in the process.

A handful of hours and a couple of states later Daisy still feels cheered up by Coulson's efforts. He's really trying. Things are not great for Inhumans out there (that's why they're on the road like this, striking the balance between anonimity and letting the public know what's going on – no misinformation, no needless panic, it's almost like going back to Rising Tides principles, Coulson pointed that out, pleased, and how far he's come from the days when he had wanted Daisy to lie to the whole of Peru for him) and Coulson is going above and beyond. Maybe he thinks he has things to prove or atone for, after last year. Maybe he just wants to.

Right now he's not Daisy's dashing – if a little puny – partner sweeping in to help her fight injustice. Right now he's a shaking form huddling against her body desperatedly, feeling almost small in her arms.

"You really are cold," she says. Kind of worried now.

"I'm dying," he says, more matter of factly than dramatic. Which, of course, makes it sound twice as dramatic.

She touches his forehead. He definitely has or is getting a cold. When the snow lets up she's going to go buy something for that.

"You really did well today, boss," Daisy says softly, drawing her fingers from his temple to his cheek, stroking him tenderly.

He shrugs – or she thinks he is, she can't really tell with all the shaking.

"Did my job," he mutters. "Wish we could have done more."

Welcome to my world, Daisy thinks. But it's not bitter. The job is disheartening at times, but she is willing to do what it takes. Coulson, too, apparently.

"The girls are safe. They'll learn to control their powers. We'll help."

"They're not going to have a great Christmas, though," he comments, sounding sad, sadder than he should for a couple of strangers.

Daisy squeezes his left arm.

"And you? Had nice Christmas as a kid?" she asks.

She wants to hear about that stuff – and hey, now he's all weak and unguarded, she can take advantage – but also she wants to distract him from the pain he's in.

"I used to celebrate a day later," Coulson says. He's so close to her that Daisy can feel his words on the tiny spot of exposed skin above her collar before she hears them.

"A _day later_?"

"When it was just me and my mom she used to take the Christmas shift at the hospital," he tells Daisy. "Every year. She just couldn't say no when other nurses with family asked for it. She tried to make it up to me by celebrating a day later but..."

"She was trying to be nice to her colleagues."

"She was a bit of an idiot, yes."

"You're her son all right," Daisy tells him.

Coulson makes a pleased noise.

"I didn't know your mother was a nurse," she says.

"She had wanted to be a doctor when she was younger."

"What happened?"

Coulson presses his lips together for a moment. " _I did_."

"Oh."

He sounds really bummed about it.

They are lying too close together, because Daisy can almost see every thought he has in the movement of his throat, the way he works words out or down.

"She talked about going back to college when I was older enough but–"

"Your dad died," Daisy finishes for him, so he doesn't have to say it out loud.

"And she had to take double shifts and a weekend job." He pauses. "Women have it tough."

"You're telling _me_?"

They both chuckle. Coulson's is more like dying animal noises again. But it's still nice.

"I know she didn't have the life she wanted," he adds, more seriously now. "And a big part of the reason for it was me."

Daisy can identify with him, in a weird way. Not that she's about to tell him that. But – Jiaying lost herself because she lost Daisy first. Her life would have probably been very different if she hadn't fallen for Cal and wanted a family. Hydra might not have gotten to her. She might even be alive today. Considering Jiaying's last words for her daughter were in bitterness and hatred Daisy is sure she would have preferred it that way, if she hadn't ever had Daisy in the first place.

But the _real_ Jiaying, the one before Whitehall cut her open, she would have never thought like that. At least Daisy hopes she wouldn't have. She didn't really know her, her real mother. 

"Maybe your mom regretted her life, I don't know," she tells Coulson and Coulson lifts his head, the rest of his body frozen and not just with cold. "That doesn't mean she loved you any less. And from what you tell me about her, the kind of person she was... I think she'd be very proud of you."

He pulls back from her embrace a bit, and it must hurt, so it must be important. He props himself on the bed to they are eye to eye.

"Thank you, Daisy," he says. "Thanks for saying that."

He looks so genuinely touched and grateful and it's freaking unfair that he feels that way, Daisy decides, and it's unbearable so she leans over Coulson's side (there are no sides, they are as close to each other as two bodies can be, but it's figure of speech, and maybe that's a good thing, because she really has no room to think it better or lose her nerve) and presses her mouth against his.

As first kisses go... it's pretty gross, because Coulson is sick and his lips are a dry mess and he's barely conscious.

But that's not the point.

"Wow."

Daisy smiles. He doesn't look like a _wow_ kind of person.

"What?"

"Even with my runny, super-gross nose?" he asks.

Now it's her time to shrug. "Yeah. I guess."

He grins like it's the best declaration he's ever gotten in his life. Sad.

"Uh," he says and again Daisy wouldn't have pegged him for a _uh_ kind of guy in these situations.

"You mind?" she asks.

"No. Of course not. Just–"

"You need some time to process it?" she asks.

He nods, slightly, only slightly, they are so close that their faces brush against each other anyway. "I do," he admits.

That's okay, she decides, looking around and squeezing Coulson's arm again through their multiple layers of clothing. She kind of dropped this on him without warning. She looks at the tv screen, there's some weird traffic news thing going on, though you can barely see it through the interferences. It's almost soothing and in a while – it's amazing how less awkward sharing a bed with Coulson feels once she has kissed him and sort of declared her undying love for him – she feels herself almost starting to doze off, her head comfortable resting on Coulson's shoulder. His body might not be very warm right now but it's soft. It's a nice place to be falling asleep on.

"Daisy?" he calls, pulling her back.

"Yeah?"

"I've processed it," he tells her.

"Already?"

"Yes."

"And?"

They are both looking straight ahead, pretending to watch tv, not daring to look at each other's eyes yet.

"You sure you don't mind my runny nose?" he asks.

He's given her an out, in case she was too impulsive before and has thought it better. It's sweet of him and she likes him even more for the attempt but she doesn't need an out.

"Not one bit."

"You don't mind catching what I've got?"

He protests too much. But he probably means this one too, worrying about her like he always does, in stupid little details and huge gestures, in the background for months, and then right here, in front of her, his cold nose touching Daisy's cheek.

She finally turns her head towards him.

"Maybe I won't catch it," she says, teasing him. "Inhuman biology is different."

Daisy can see the twinkle in his eye. Suddenly he no longer looks like a dying wild animal. More like an adorably sick dude.

"We should – uh – test that theory. Probably. As research."

She widens her eyes at him, and under the covers she runs her toes along his shin. Coulson shivers. Again not exactly from the cold.

"Good excuse, Director," she says.

"I'm very at good excuses." His words come all slurred by the cold and his blocked nose and it sounds like he's saying _i'm very good excuses_ which, also true.

"Yes, you are," Daisy agrees and is about to berate him for that when she feels Coulson's lips brushing hers and his hand (it's alive!) snaking its way up her body until it grips her hip with stiff and gloved fingers. He slides his tongue inside Daisy's tongue. Hot, so hot. 

As second kisses go, it's pretty spectacular.


End file.
